Never Know Pain
by venividiscripsi333
Summary: OOC. Ana has a rare disorder from birth that stops her from feeling pain. Starts at the original interview and continues on a different path. Can the brooding Christian Grey keep away from a girl who feels no physical pain? Or will he open her up to a world she never knew before?
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Hey everyone! I'm new to writing fan fiction, though I've read some before. This story has been flopping around in my head for a while – Ana has a rare genetic condition where she cannot feel any sort of physical pain or hot/cold. I haven't decided if I'm going to be strictly medical/realistic about this or put some "love conquers all" supernatural elements in. Give me your thoughts about that please!

The story starts where the original FSOG book 1 starts and continues with my story line from there. It's obviously OOC because breaking molds sounds destructive and fun.

If you ever find anything confusing or not adding up, just let me know. Also, please tell me if there are grammar errors – I often won't read other fan fiction because of grammar issues #snob

Obviously, EL James owns all, not me.

I only (sometimes) own my erratic thoughts and ideas.

Chapter 1

 **APOV**

The sun has risen alone today with no clouds to obscure its powerful beams, but the gargantuan forest trees shield my skin from the harmful rays. The early morning damp earth, packed loosely enough to still provide a little bounce, squishes and gives under my bare feet as I glide along the path toward the gushing water. The air smells of fresh rain and clean leaves – new beginnings – urging me to continue my journey through the forest. The soil changes, crunching and turning to dust as I step out of the tree line and onto the riverbank. Pebbles shift under my feet, most are smooth and worn by the corrosive high tides, but a few are younger and sharper. I relish the piercing stab of these adolescent rocks, not yet worn down by time and force, still rebelling with jagged edges and no apologies.

The river gushes down its path, sure of its purpose and destination, knowing exactly where it must go and how to get there. Nature is always confident, never second guessing itself. Insects buzz around the mucky riverbed as the sun continues to rise. My skin tingles as the bright ball of fire warms my every fiber, running down my spine and branching out to my extremities. I curl my toes involuntarily.

I step into the water slowly, savoring the icy pin pricks, the goose bumps forming on my skin. As I submerge myself fully in the chilling river, all sounds cease. I hear my heart thumping wildly in my ears as I try to backtrack and count how many seconds I've been underwater for. I resurface and try to breathe but something is off. The sun is glaringly bright, reflecting off the water in blinding rays. My head is swimming and my vision is dotted with black spots. I get out of the water and lie down on the pebbles and close my eyes, trying to regulate my breathing and pounding heart. I smell something burning but can't imagine how someone could start a fire on a riverbed so I ignore it.

 _Calm down calm down calm down_

I fall asleep repeating the mantra.

When I wake, the sun is setting. The river is shining with brilliant pinks and oranges as the sun continues its descent until the water turns dark. I get up from my spot on the riverbank and catch sight of my left arm. It's covered in an odd looking rash with blisters everywhere. I touch the blisters and feel the pressure from the fluid under my skin. I check the rest of my skin and find that the rash is covering every inch of my body. I can feel the blisters on my face, in between my toes, under my nails.

There was no fire.

I was burning.

I run to the river to soothe the burns but I can't tell if it's working. I don't know if the water's even cold. I decide to turn back the way I came; hopefully I can find some medical help once I get out of the forest. I look back to make sure I didn't leave anything behind as I head into the dark jungle of trees and brush. I see a glossy liquid trail that follows my path from the riverbed. I bend down to touch it and my hands are covered in sticky blood. My blood. I look down and see my feet are covered in blood too; my ankles are cut every which way and the trail of lacerations travels up my calves, knees, and thighs. I'm bleeding everywhere. I remember my head feeling odd and touch my hand to the back of my skull, knowing what I will find before I even make contact. My hair is matted with blood trickling out of the base of my head. As I stand at the edge of the forest, my vision becomes cloudy once more, but my head is clear with the realization.

I'm bleeding out.

I'll be dead within the minute.

Everything goes black as my knees buckle under me. I hear faint moaning in the distance as I fall to the ground.

* * *

I'm in my bedroom. I'm not dead. My sheets rub together strangely and I see that I've sweat through my pajamas and bedding. Great. My bedside alarm clock says 2:38AM in bright blue numbers.

"Aaaannaaaaa," croaks my roommate, and best friend, Katherine Kavanagh. Her voice echoes as she rasps out my name once more, the sound punctuated by gagging.

I race to the bathroom and find Kate clutching to the toilet for dear life as she vomits continuously, the action so violent it shakes her whole body. I grab a washcloth and wet it with cold water and place it on the back of her neck. I tie her hair up into a bun so it's out of her face (and the splash zone). I sit with her on the linoleum floor while she continues emptying her body and the dry heaving calms down. I periodically re-wet the washcloth so her neck stays cold to help with the nausea.

42 minutes later, she slumps to the ground and looks at me with her piercing green eyes. They may be rimmed with bright red and puffy skin but she still looks amazing. Only Katherine Kavanagh could have the stomach flu and still look breathtaking after an intense vomiting episode. I hand her a small cup with mouthwash in it. She smiles at me and takes it, croaking out a "thank you" before she swishes it around her mouth and spits it into the toilet behind her. She smiles at me for a moment before her face falls, horror overtaking her expression.

"Ana, I'm such a fuck up!" she moans. I'm confused; it's not her fault she has the stomach flu. I mean, Kate's not one to purposefully eat raw chicken or something. How is she a fuck up?

She registers my puzzled expression and tries to explain, all the while sounding like a chain smoker with her rasping voice.

"I have that big interview today in Seattle! How am I supposed to do that now?! It's not like I can bring a trashcan with me into the interview!" She sits upright and mocks interviewing me: "Hello, I'm Katherine Kavanagh. Please disregard this trashcan filled with puke, I'll be using it during the interview to prevent myself from hurling directly onto you."

Even though the situation is shitty, I can't help but laugh at Kate's scenario. After a second, she laughs with me too and we fall onto the floor fully in a pile of giggles and tears. She's always the sunshine to my rain, the half-full to my half-empty. Sure, she's pretty cynical about the rest of humanity but she cares fiercely for the few she loves, and I'm honored to be one of those few. I'm opposite of Kate in so many ways – I care about others and feel there's good in everyone, but don't pay much attention to my own needs beyond the required checks I have to make; she feels there's a skeleton hiding in everyone's closet (and voices that opinion quite often), but fights to help her loved ones clear those closets of anything negative. She's extremely social and outgoing, making snap decisions and just letting the current take her wherever it wants to, while I have to be cautious always. I don't have the luxury of not having a care in the world.

I was born with a rare genetic disorder called Hereditary Sensory and Autonomic Neuropathy Type IV, otherwise known as Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis (CIPA). Basically, I was born with impaired sensory nerves, so I don't feel any sort of physical pain, including hot and cold – that's the "insensitivity to pain" part. If something hits me, I'll feel the pressure of the impact but none of the pain associated with the strength of impact. Up until I was about 12, I also didn't have the ability to sweat – the "anhidrosis" part, which often lead to me passing out from heat stroke. My parents allowed a group of specialists to do some experimental treatment on me to counteract the anhidrosis and it worked. I now sweat normally. I know that's not very exciting to most people but it's pretty awesome when you don't have to worry about overheating and blacking out constantly.

Every few hours, I have to check my entire body for cuts, bruises, swelling, infections, and burns. When other people step on a rusty nail, they feel pain and stop to clean the wound and get a tetanus shot. When I step on a rusty nail, I might feel some pressure but I probably won't notice anything, which means I now have an infected cut on the bottom of my foot. Or I'll lean up against an electric stove, not knowing that it's on, and won't realize I've given my hip a third degree burn unless I register the smell of burning flesh. When I was kid, I had a broken ankle for 2 days while my parents were out of town and my neighbor, who was watching me, forgot to check me over. I didn't even know, I just thought I naturally walked funny or something.

Ray, my stepdad, is very protective of me for this reason (besides me being his only daughter) and for the first year of college, I constantly had to reassure him that I was doing the checks and I was fine. He relented when Kate and I started living together. He trusts Kate and I'm pretty sure they having an ongoing google doc about my checks and any potential issues. I know they mean well but I just want someone to rough house with me a little. I mean, I know that I won't register any pain but someone else surely knows how much strength to put into something before it gets harmful right?

My mom kind of ignores the issue, which is both a blessing and a curse. I don't have to deal with her anxiety about me but she also didn't think that me living with her and Husband Number 3 was an issue. Long story short, he was abusive but I was a particularly interesting target for his torture because he wanted to see how far he could push – if I'd ever feel the pain. I was his weird experiment and once I realized it wouldn't stop, I demanded to live with Ray.

"Ok I think I'm done for now," Kate sighs as she slumps back to the ground with me, finishing her third vomiting episode since I ran into the bathroom a couple hours ago.

"I can do the interview for you, if you want," I tell her, putting on my best "helpful Ana" face. She's been raving about this interview for months and she doesn't deserve to have it all flushed away (no pun intended) because she's sick. I can brave the offices of… of… of whatever company she's going to. I should probably ask for her research.

"I don't know what I'd do without you Steele, thank you," she sniffles. I think she's overwhelmed from the sickness and exhaustion so I help her to bed and leave a trashcan on either side of her bed so she doesn't have to run to the bathroom if she feels sick again. She's out before her head even hits the pillow.

 _My, how the mighty have fallen._

I giggle at my (obviously) hilarious thought and leave Kate to, hopefully, peaceful slumbers. On my way out of her room, I grab her laptop to find her research on this Mr. Bigshot CEO guy I'm going to interview. It's a little after 5 in the morning so I decide to just stay up – I don't need any more nightmares today. She's compiled a ton of info on this guy but it's all very technical, nothing about personal preferences or hobbies. There's nothing on his childhood, except that Dr. Grace Trevelyan-Grey and Carrick Grey adopted him in Detroit when he was 4 years old. He has a younger sister, Amelia Grey, and an older brother, Elliot Grey, who are both adopted as well. I search the web for more info, though I have a feeling I won't find more than Kate did – she's really good at researching these things.

After another hour of searching, I've found nothing new. Either Christian Trevelyan-Grey is an emotionless workaholic with no social life or he's extremely private. I have a feeling it might be both. Kate's research says he's only 27 – so he probably has been working his ass off since he started the company. You don't get that successful that quickly and still keep up a healthy work-life balance. I'm about to look up a picture of him when my alarm chirps. I need to shower, get changed, and do my morning checks still before I drive the 165 glorious miles to downtown Seattle. I guess I'll just see what he looks like when I meet him in person.

* * *

 **AN:** soooo that happened - I published my first chapter ever. cue dramatic music.  
anywho, I'm really interested in what all of you (meaning: the 2 readers I'll probably have) think of the story/where it's going/what should happen/my view of the characters/how much you love pizza on a scale of 1-10 etc. you know, basic stuff. (my love for pizza is at 100000000 btw). I don't know the update schedule yet or the average length of the chapters but I'll let you know (or forget to tell you and just keep you in the dark). Also, I've decided upon writing this first chapter that I'm kind of digging the supernatural feel so there's going to be some of that in it too. I won't get too crazy on you so don't worry. Also, this IS rated M so there's gonna be sex. I mean, this is FSOG so there's gonna be sex. But unlike FSOG, I'll omit the 2736294729119474 "oh my's" and shy, bashful "down there's" that the meek Ana from the books uses so frequently. I like a more rough-and-tumble kind of girl.

see ya later alligator  
veni vidi scripsi (VVS)


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** So since fanfiction says I can't upload a new story for 12 hours (because I just made an account) I've decided to write more… yay? Oh and I'm going to take liberties with the CIPA disorder (a smidge) and if something I write isn't correct about it then tell me please. I mean, I may not fix the problem but I like people voicing their opinion and then I can respond as to why I did what I did yada yada yada. Also, I feel the need to defend Kate in my story because there are a ton of stories out there that just rag on Kate all the time – like Ana's an idiot and chose a horrible best friend or something. Give the girl a little credit please. Also, I have my 5 month old puppy sleeping next to me and he's the most adorable thing ever and I want everyone to know because he's perfect (except when he's being an asshat).

EL James owns all…. except for my adorable as fuck puppy.

Listening to The Neighbourhood's "Afraid" while writing this.

See you at the bottom.

* * *

Chapter 2

 **CPOV**

God  
Fucking  
Damn  
It  
All  
To  
Hell.

Don't people die if they don't sleep enough? It feels like I haven't slept properly my whole life. I awake from yet another nightmare of pain, burns, and one overdosed addict. The dreams are getting more frequent and it's taking more of a toll on me than it has in the past. There's got to be something I can do, anything to lessen the frequency of these haunting memories. Should I tell Flynn they've been getting worse? I snort at the mere idea – he'd just talk about meditation and what my goals are and spew endless bullshit about me needing to believe I deserve to be fixed before the "real work," as he puts it, can begin. Sorry Flynn, but I can't believe something if I know it's not true.

I get out of bed and head to the bathroom, stripping my clothes off as I go, and step into the shower. I turn on the water and get it hot enough to hurt just a little bit, I feel like I need to sanitize myself after those terrible dreams. I need to cleanse myself of that life. As I wash my body and feel the all too familiar scars on my chest, I think about what today may hold – nothing too interesting I think, just some meetings and an interview I think, with someone from WSU for the graduation. I'm annoyed that I even have to attend this inane graduation ceremony but Sam from PR says it looks good and I need to show I care (at least outwardly) about the people behind the soil science research I'm funding at the university. Whatever. I don't give a shit if people think I care or not.

I dry myself off and shave in front of the mirror, not really caring if I cut myself – it's not like I'm trying to impress anyone. As I wipe off the last bit of shaving cream, I sigh in exasperation at how mundane my life seems to have become. I'm listless and I can't think of how to change it. Maybe switching something up will change my direction, and I could work past these nightmares. Maybe it would help me feel more interested in my own god damn life. Maybe.

I change into some sweats and leave the bedroom, in search of something to do. I usually play the piano when I wake from these dreams but it doesn't sound appealing to me right now. I want to do something different. Perhaps a new sub will keep my attention. Susannah was good on paper for me but her personality was aggravating to say the least. I couldn't stand to hear her say anything other than "yes Sir" and "no Sir" and even that became annoying to me. She was just… lacking something I guess. In fact, I feel as if all my subs have lacked something, but I don't know what that something is. I got bored with them. Or they got too clingy. Both always end the same: an immediate termination of the contract.

I find myself outside, standing on the balcony overlooking Seattle from my penthouse. There are a few groups of people on the street, mostly young people walking home from the clubs and bars. I bet they're laughing and stumbling on the sidewalk without a care in the world. I wouldn't be surprised if Elliot was among them. He's always so carefree and jovial. I know he has a serious side that he shows when necessary but that's a rare occasion. He says I'm serious enough for the both of us. My brother is always cracking jokes at my expense, though I understand why, since I seem to have so much fodder for his jabs – my temper, my lack of familial involvement beyond the obligatory, how private I am – yes, I can easily see how much fun it is to poke fun at the brooding businessman – just a tidal wave of endless laughter.

I watch the sun rise over the horizon and decide it's time to start my day, though I feel that the days and nights just blend into each other now, with no real punctuation indicating a new beginning. With a sigh I turn to go inside and change into something for work. I text Taylor and let him know I'll be ready to leave at 6:30, giving him 30 minutes to get his gruff face out here. I change into a suit and walk out of my bedroom – though besides the closet, I'm not sure it looks like someone's personal bedroom. There's nothing individualized about it – I used to like that but now it feels cold, familiar but unfamiliar at the same time. Jesus, I seriously need to snap out of this. I'm Christian Fucking Grey – I don't get stuck in ruts.

As I walk into the great room, I catch sight of Mrs. Jones pouring two cups of coffee from a fresh pot.

"Morning Gail." I greet her with, hopefully, some semblance of cheer. She's very kind and puts up with just as much of my shit as Taylor, if not more. Even though I pay her a generous amount to put up with everything, her efforts should be appreciated more than I currently do.

"Good morning Mr. Grey. Would you like your usual omelet for breakfast?" She says with the utmost professionalism as she straightens out an invisible wrinkle in her apron.

I tell her it sounds fine and sit down at the breakfast bar with my coffee. I pick up the newspaper and am halfway through the sports section when Gail places my plate in front of me. I'm so glad I have a live in house keeper. I can't cook worth a damn. It's just never been a skill, or an interest of mine – I'd be surviving on burnt toast and cold cereal if it weren't for her, but even that would require me to go to a grocery store. I haven't the slightest clue how to navigate a grocery store.

Taylor emerges from his quarters looking like he slept soundly all night. Great. The security gets to sleep like a fucking baby but the boss who should feel secure gets 2 hours max.

 _Enough moping Grey. You've been doing this for years, it's not going to change now so just get over it._

Once at the office, the day goes by quickly – just a blur of the same things over and over again – Andrea anticipating what I need before I say it, Olivia bumbling like a fool and then staring at me with eyes glazed over, Barney getting overly excited about a new piece of tech, and Claude gloating like an ass when he knocks me on mine for the 4th time since the beginning of our workout.

"Jeez Grey, what's with you? It's like you're not even present in the ring – don't be an idiot. If you come to fight, you better fight okay? I think we're done for today." His scolding frustrates the fuck out of me. I know I could knock him down at least a couple times when I'm on my game. I never lose concentration. I need to focus. I need to find something to focus on.

 _Or maybe someone?_

I'll have to think about that later, as Bastille and I are heading back up to my office after hitting GEH's private showers in the 5th floor gym. It was one of the best ideas I ever had, adding a full gym to the building – stress relief only a few floors away. At least it usually relieves my stress. Not today.

Bastille and I discuss the latest fights we've seen and he suggests we see one in person some time, says he's been to a few with Elliot and they're always a blast to watch. I'm not really a hang-out-with-people type of person so I just say a half-hearted maybe as he gets up to leave me to my work.

As he leaves, he turns to me and says, "Golf this week Grey?" and I know he's doing it to piss me off. He knows I hate golf – he also knows I'm not great at it and need to improve my game since so many other company executives from other areas like to do the majority of their negotiations on the green. I nod, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an actual yes. He chuckles, smug motherfucker, as he walks out of my office.

I look at my calendar and see that I have that interview next with one Katherine Kavanagh from the WSU newspaper. I really don't want to deal with this girl right now. She only got the interview because she was so fucking persistent. But even persistence wouldn't have sealed the deal – good thing she's Eamon Kavanagh's daughter, of Kavanagh Media. I'll be able to get a favor from him out of this trivial interview. At least some good will come of this.

Just then, Andrea buzzes me to let me know a Ms. Anastasia Steele is here to interview me for the WSU student newspaper.

 _Who the fuck is this Steele woman? Where the fuck is Kavanagh?_

I ask Andrea this, not bothering to omit the cursing – she's used to it. I pay her to not flinch at the cursing and demanding nature of this job. She says that Ms. Steele is here to do the interview in Kavanagh's place. She better have a good explanation for this. I don't like to be subject to surprises.

The door opens and in walks – no glides gracefully, as if she were floating on clouds – the most stunning woman I've ever seen. Long chestnut locks flow down her back and curl at the ends. Her skin is luminous, almost glowing – though it transforms to the most fascinating shade of pink as her blush overtakes her – she sees me staring at her like a fucking depraved lunatic. I mentally slap myself for being so obvious while trying to calm the growing erection that is now straining against my zipper.

 _Smooth move Grey. Way to freak someone out as soon as they walk in the door_.

I hold out my hand to her and am surprised by her strong handshake as I introduce myself to her. "Hello, I'm Christian Grey. It's a pleasure to meet you."

 _It's a pleasure? Are you fucking kidding me? Who the fuck are you? God damn Mr. Rogers?_

"The pleasure is all mine Mr. Grey. I'm Anastasia Steele. I'm filling in for Katherine Kavanagh – she's come down with the flu unexpectedly. She sends her apologies." Her voice is like silk, velvet, sunshine, and warm caramel all wrapped into one. The way she says Mr. Grey grabs my attention in more ways than one – and it's getting rather difficult to pretend certain parts of my anatomy are not interested in hearing more of that luscious voice.

I think I'm in trouble.

* * *

 **AN:** I don't know if I'm all for the cliff hanger type stuff (maybe this isn't even considered that) but this seemed like a good natural place to end it. I will be switching POVs in later chapters so it won't be just Ana or Christian (I might throw in Elliot once in a while because he's fun) for a whole chapter but I wanted to introduce my versions of these characters in a more concrete manner. I like a little humor in my writing so you'll see some of that too. I'm a tad snarky so the characters will reflect that once in a while. Ana's also got some sass, but I'll explain my reasoning for making her the way I did later, or just if someone asks. I'm not one for unnecessary explanations.

Also, by the time I finished writing this chapter, the adorable puppy turned into a complete derpy asshole. He's now asleep again, tired out from all his assholeness no doubt. If he wasn't so cute, I could be mad at him, but that's impossible because he's just too adorable.

adios lovelies

vvs


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** thank you all for your helpful reviews! I'm glad this idea is interesting to more than just me.

EL James owns all

Currently listening to Arctic Monkeys' "Arabella" and The White Stripes' "Conquest"

Chapter 3

 **CPOV**

 _Get a fucking hold of yourself, Grey. It's just a girl you idiot._

"So you're on the student newspaper with Miss Kavanagh then?" I'm grasping at straws trying to regain some semblance of control. Small talk seems to be the best option. Honestly, the best option would be to fuck her right now on my desk and forgo the interview completely, but I don't think that's going to fly with her.

She hides a smile by sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. Her lip turns a light pink where her teeth make contact, turning white as she bites harder. Shouldn't that be painful? She's almost drawing blood. Does she like the sensation? Does she _like_ the pain? Is that why she bites her lip so hard? Good lord, now I know I'm in trouble.

Why did she have to do that? Why the fuck did she have to show me how fucking sexy she is with one fucking expression? I don't even know her. She could have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. She could be insane. She could be an idiot.

 _She could be the best sub you've ever had…_

Fuck.

Don't think about that. Don't think about her being a sub.

"… because she's my roommate." Shit, she was talking and I didn't even listen because I'm too fucking preoccupied with trying to calm myself down. I assume she means Kavanagh is simply her roommate, so she's just interviewing me as a favor. I wonder what she's studying. I bet she's smart. She looks smart.

And hot.

And she doesn't seem to mind pain.

And her skin is flawless and milky – it would react well to a flogger.

And now I'm hard.

And now she's going to notice.

And the headline for this article will read "Christian Grey: Lecherous Pervert."

"Well Miss Steele, shall we get this started? I'm a very busy man and I only have a few minutes for your questions," I say in what I hope is a disinterested and aloof manner as I move to sit behind my desk, obscuring my raging hard on, which is currently trying to destroy my zipper and all of my control. I can't let this girl know how much she's affecting me by simply being herself. She's fucking topping from the bottom and she's not even aware she's doing it.

 _I could train that out of her… I could show her how to behave properly._

The idea is deliciously satisfying.

 _Stop this._ _ **NOW**_ _._

I take a breath and strengthen my resolve to treat this girl like I would any other young reporter. Just ignore anything nonessential to the interview.

Ignore her thick hair.

Ignore how alluring it would look braided down her naked back.

Ignore her sharp blue eyes.

Ignore how seductive they would look peering up at me through those long lashes while she slowly slid my cock into her wet, inviting mouth.

A loud banging sound brings me out of my concupiscent mind and back to reality.

"Whoops! Sorry about that!" she says as her blush returns and she inspects her leg. She must have hit it against the coffee table. I didn't even see her do it. Too distracted by my wayward thoughts.

 _I bet that blush travels everywhere._

"Are you alright Miss Steele? That looked like it hurt."

"Oh it's not a problem, Mr. Grey. You could say I have a high tolerance for pain. A very high tolerance…" she says with a wicked smirk, like she's enjoying an inside joke.

Well, I'm fucked.

 **APOV**

He's just staring at me. It's like his brain shut off or something. Can that happen to people? Am I supposed to do something or just sit here looking at him like a confused imbecile? I cough loudly enough to get his attention and it seems to work – snapping him out of it. He clears his throat and motions for me with his hand to begin the interview.

I look down at the questions Kate gave me and they're all so very… boring. Just plain boring. He probably gets asked these questions all the time. His answers won't give Kate anything that hasn't already been reported. I stuff her questions back into my inside jacket pocket, hoping Kate won't kill me for deviating from her perfectly organized interview.

 _Sorry, Kate._

"Do you mind if I record your answers, Mr. Grey?" I ask as I take my phone out.

"That's not a problem Miss Steele." Jesus, his voice could make Mother Teresa question her control. It's lethal. I turn my phone to a recording app and begin.

"Why did you decide to start your company so young?" I'm curious as to why he didn't wait until he was done with college. Surely it would have given him a little more authority if he had been a bit older. I can't imagine a company being very happy about some hotshot 21-year old coming in and tearing everything apart.

"Patience is not my strong suit, Miss Steele," he half-chuckles. "I felt I was ready and didn't want to wait any longer. I will admit, my parents weren't thrilled with the prospect of me dropping out of Harvard to start my own business, but I didn't really care about their approval at the time – I just wanted to go out there and make a name for myself." His passion shines through in his answer. He really did have full confidence in himself and his abilities. It's nice to meet someone so self-assured, most people just pretend they are, but he really believes it.

"Could you tell me a bit about your parents, Mr. Grey? Other than their occupations, I mean."

He looks at me, calculating how much he wants to say, no doubt. That's my plan – to see how much he'll divulge about his private life, since there seems to be almost no information about it currently.

"My parents are wonderfully kind people, but I prefer to keep them out of the press whenever possible." His face shows strong determination to do just that – keep his family out of the media. He's very protective of the ones he loves – maybe that's why there's never any mention of a girlfriend – because he wants to protect her from prying eyes.

"Ok then, no family talk." I attempt to steer the conversation back to something he's comfortable with by taking out the boring, but safe, interview questions Kate wrote down. I'll sneak attack him later with another personal question.

I ask him what he thinks he owes his success to and I see his miniscule smile drop completely. He looks annoyed – and weirdly disappointed. I knew these questions were crap.

He sighs and goes into an obviously rehearsed explanation about how he knows how to read people and how to make them do what he wants. He says that it's all about the people you work with but he sounds like he's more complimenting his ability to seek these people out.

 _Well that was kind of arrogant._

"You sound like you've got it all figured out, Mr. Grey." I try to hide my snarky tone but I'm sure he hears it as I see his face harden at my sarcasm.

"I'm very confident in what I do. Confidence is key to success." He says harshly, like he's trying to prove something to me.

"But hubris isn't." I mutter under my breath.

His eyes harden as he glares at me – I guess I wasn't as quiet as I thought.

"If you're going to say something, Miss Steele" he says, emphasizing my name, trying to belittle me, "then say it." He thinks that by challenging me, I'll become all meek and shy, like his cowardly assistant out there. What was her name? Right, Olivia. He thinks I owe him my respect because he's all fancy and powerful, but that's not how you get respect. I'm not a fan of bullies, and I don't back down.

I grin as my new plan forms in my head. I can get him a little riled up and then catch him off guard with a question that's actually interesting.

 _Ok Grey, let's play._

"I think you're an arrogant and entitled control freak." I stare straight into his eyes and lean forward in my chair as I say my words without the least bit of hesitation. This is definitely going to piss him off, but I can't help it.

He regards me coldly for a moment – eyes aloof, jaw set, shoulders back.

 _Sexy as fuck_.

Wait, no, shut up. I can't think about that.

He gets up from behind his desk and slowly walks to the chair next to me. He looks like a jungle cat, sauntering gracefully while fully aware of his power. He sinks into the chair and looks at me, his index finger running along his lower lip.

"Control can be quite… satisfying, Anastasia."

 _That was DEFINITELY not about business._

I don't know what to say to that. How did he make my name sound like an orgasmic prayer? How did he go from pissed off to complete sex god in half a second?

Who the fuck is this guy? Is he just trying to mess with me? Trying to trip me up so I don't pester him anymore with my questions? What if I did that to him?

What if I did that to him.

 _Two can play at this game._

"Oh really? I've never found much… pleasure," I say slowly, rolling the word around on my tongue, "in control. Care to enlighten me, Mr. Grey?"

His eyes go wide and then become darker – more predatory. It should freak me out, having someone look at me like that, but I'm not scared. I'm turned on. Wait, what?

Shut.

The.

Front.

Door.

How in the hell can I be turned on? How can I notice that? Sensory-wise, pleasure is too close to pain – I never feel pleasurable things, like light breezes or attraction to crazy hot control freaks. I don't ever feel heat, yet I can feel it now as it pools between my thighs. Is this what heat feels like? I don't even know.

What's going on? This isn't right. This is weird. This shouldn't be happening.

I can hear my breathing getting faster and faster, the dots forming in my vision as I start to hyperventilate.

"Miss Steele, are you ok?" he asks, seeming just as panicked as I am – probably freaked out by my current freak out. I need to get out of here before something happens. I don't know what I'm afraid could happen. All I know for sure right now is that I have to get away from Christian Grey.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I have to get back to WSU for work. I just noticed the time," I half-heartedly lie. I don't really care if he believes why I have to leave; I just need to get out. Now.

"Thank you for the interview," I say as I rush out the door and to the elevators.

His assistants jump up in surprise and I think one of them says something to me but I can't even hear her. I can't focus on anything but getting as far away from this man as possible. The doors open and I step inside, pushing the button for the bottom floor. I hear him come out of his office as the doors begin to close and I frantically press the "door close" button, hoping I can escape this place in time.

I see him just as the doors close.

"Anastasia," he says, breathless.

"Christian."

 **AN:** so, yeah. There's that. Tell me what ya think.

Thanks,

vvs


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Hello. I'm rude. Okie dokie.

E.L. James owns all.

Listening to "Howlin' For You" by the Black Keys

* * *

Chapter 4

APOV

I burst out of the monolithic front doors of GEH and start gasping for breath. I fill my lungs with the fresh air – cleaned from the rain currently pouring down on the overhang I'm standing under. I don't even register the rain at first, my mind is too muddled with Mr. I'm-A-Fucking-Sexy-Pompous-Jerkface and our interview, if you could even call that an interview. It felt more like a mix between a hunting and mating ritual. I'm not sure which one I'm more confused by at the moment, or which one worries me more…

What honestly concerns me the most is how said Jerkface made me feel, not emotionally but physically. I've had plenty of men flirt with me over the years and I know the dance that accompanies it. I'm not new to the moves or the performance as a whole, but this was something else entirely. I felt physically turned on. I've never had that feeling before, because I sure as hell would've remembered it.

What bothers me is that everything this guy is, at least on the surface, is a complete annoyance to me. His wealth is excessive and screams "NOTICE ME! BE IMPRESSED!" His controlling vibe was palpable throughout the office building – everything and everyone was cold and efficient. His smug attitude makes me want to stick a bag over his head just so I don't have to look at that knowing look he gets when he thinks he has all the answers.

 _Though if you put a bag over his head, you wouldn't be able to see that gorgeous face of his…_

I hush my subconscious and go over our conversation again in my head, paying attention to more than just the words – the body language, how he moved to sit closer to me, how his fists clenched after I hit my leg on his table…

The table.

After I hit my leg on his table, he went all quiet. I just said that I have a high pain tolerance, but it seemed to spark something in him that neither he nor I were ready for. After his awkward silence, he changed his game up. Looking back, it was obvious he formed a plan in his mind and went about executing it immediately. He got this look on his face when he came to sit by me – predatory, yet alluring at the same time. He knew what he was doing. I suspect he's done this numerous time before: seducing a young journalist fresh out of college (or almost out in my case), all doe eyed and innocent with great big brilliant dreams of the future. He probably expected me to just fall at his feet the moment he decided to turn our interview into something more primal. The great Christian Grey is flirting with _me_? Little ol' _me_? Oh golly I better jump at the opportunity!

No thank you. I value myself far too much to be that person. And I'm far from innocent in any regard. I remember even Kate being shocked with how casual I was about sex. I mean, I don't really sleep around or anything, but I don't view sex as this important thing that is supposed to bring two people closer together in every way. It doesn't confirm love or a solidifying of the relationship for me because I don't _feel_ anything. Literally. The pleasure center of the brain is too closely associated with the pain center so I've not really had any pleasurable experiences physically since the CIPA prevents my brain from registering them.

I've been in relationships before, and once I was 17, sex became a normal part of those relationships. I really didn't have the heart to tell the guys that I was faking every orgasm, and they never suspected a thing because, well because they're young men – they don't really notice much honestly. I figured out when to make the appropriate noises and when to squeeze my muscles to simulate my orgasm but that was all it was: a technical sequence of muscle contractions followed by "oh baby" and then it was done. They never even questioned why I always told them to use lube. I just told them they'd like it more because it felt even better but it was actually because my body never secreted anything to help ease the friction – and penis burn is apparently a very real thing, just ask the first guy I had sex with. Poor Chad Wesley and his poor penis. I mean, he got better but I learned pretty quick that lube was necessary to sustaining any semblance of a functioning sex life within my relationships.

But why date in the first place? I mean, it's not like I felt sexually attracted to any of these guys. I just wanted to be normal – to feel normal, emotionally at least. I didn't tell people growing up about my condition because kids are idiots and I'm sure I would've been the lab rat of every school I went to if anyone knew. Though I guess that stupidity isn't reserved solely for kids, Stephen Morton sure had plenty of stupidity as an adult…

The rain lets up long enough for me to race to Kate's car. I get in and start the long drive back to Portland. I crank up the volume on the radio to drown out my thoughts and relax into the leather seat as I speed along the highway, though I feel like I'm forgetting something…

* * *

CPOV

What the fuck just happened? This girl – this fantastic, amazing, mesmerizing girl has just flown out my office like her life depended on it. And it wasn't from intimidation or fear, it was almost out of confusion. Right before she made some bullshit excuse for getting back home, her expression changed to complete bewilderment. As if she had just discovered something life changing.

 _I'd like to give her some life changing experiences. If she'd let me._

Shut up! I'm already looking like an idiot – standing here staring at the elevator she escaped in just a few moments ago, mouth agape. I do not need to add an erection into the equation. Not with that ridiculous excuse for an assistant, Olivia, nearby. She'd probably think it was for her. Just the thought of that woman immediately drops my libido by a thousand notches.

I walk into my office and close the doors with a little more force than necessary but, quite honestly, I'm pissed off at the situation. Who the fuck is this girl? How can she just affect me like that? She wasn't even fucking trying! I've had plenty of women try their most seductive techniques on me and it is of no use but this girl - this brilliant sensual creature just bites her fucking lip and says she has a high pain tolerance and I'm reconsidering all of my rules just to throw her on my desk and fuck her into next week. Just the thought of fucking sweet Anastasia Steele until she screams my name has me hard as a fucking rock again. I feel like a god damn pubescent boy in gym class. Except I was never that boy, never paid much attention to the girls in gym class – fucking meant touching, at least I thought, and the mere thought of anyone touching me made me want to scream, rip my hair out, and throw up all at the same time. Girls in school were never an option for me.

Elena changed all that, thank god. Now I control what happens so I don't have to worry about getting touched, or feeling that debilitating pain ever again. While I'm not a fan of her as a person, I have to admit that she did save me in a sense when I was young. I'm sure I would've gone down a very similar path without her help – Harvard, GEH etc. but I wouldn't have been as successful I think. I'd most likely be even more difficult to work with than I am now, because the control I feel in my playroom allows me to be more level headed outside of it. I'd probably be a celibate virgin if Elena hadn't seduced me all those years ago. I've grown past our friendship, however, though she doesn't seem to have gotten the memo yet.

I'm brought out of my thoughts when something on my office couch catches my eye. It's a jacket – _her_ jacket. She took it off before we started the interview and she must have forgotten it.

 _Can you blame her for forgetting it? She ran out of here like a bat out of hell._

I pick it up and examine it, hoping to gain an insight into who this girl is. As I check the pockets for anything to help further my newfound stalker quest, I'm overcome by her scent. She must wear this jacket all the time; it's bathed in her own personal perfume – apples and fresh laundry and _her_.

She smells like happiness.

I bet everything about her evokes happiness – her smile, her laugh, her taste. I want to drown in this scent – drown in this woman.

I know what I should do at this very moment: give the jacket to Andrea and tell her to send it to Miss Steele. Go back to my life. Beat the shit out of Bastille at tomorrow's workout. Find a new sub. Forget about the girl.

But I don't want to forget about her.

I want to slam into her against every wall in Escala until my name escapes her lips like a prayer to the heavens.

I want to hold her to me as she comes harder than she ever has before.

I want to bite that lip she nearly drew blood from earlier today.

I want to watch her as she realizes she never knew pleasure until she experienced it with me.

* * *

AN: ok, there's that. Sorry about never updating. I have excuses but who really gives a shit about my reasoning right? Right.

xoxo,

VVS


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** Hi hey there hello here's another chapter. I'm writing the next one right now (hopefully I can keep a back log of chapters so I don't just disappear again with no updates). Also, please review, even if it's super rude or whatever – I just want to know what people are thinking concerning the story. Thanks

Listening to:

Do I Wanna Know? (Arctic Monkeys)

* * *

 **CPOV**

I spent the rest of the day doing nothing but thinking of one Anastasia Steele. I tried, truly I did, to not think of her and to do something productive but everything I did just brought me back to her. I couldn't answer emails without wondering what hers was. I couldn't eat lunch without wanting to eat it off her naked body.

I call Welch, my head of security at GEH, and ask him to run a background check on her. I don't even try to make up a reason for wanting it; I just tell him to get it done ASAP and head home.

Taylor eyes me in the rearview mirror as we make our way through the Seattle streets. I know he's curious about my mood. I mean I'm not Mr. Predictable when it comes to my emotions, far from it, but my current disposition is exceptionally strange, even for me.

I'm completely confused. I've yet to decide how I'm going to contact Anastasia – or if I'm going to do it at all. A part of me is hoping that I'll wake up tomorrow and her allure will have passed, but I know that it won't. For one, I'd have to actually sleep tonight, and sleep doesn't come easily for me. Secondly, her jacket is currently sitting inside my briefcase. I folded it six times before placing it inside. Six times because I don't fucking know how to fold a woman's jacket and simply stuffing it inside the case seemed wrong and disrespectful somehow – as if the jacket would tell Anastasia how rudely I had treated it and then she would never look my way again.

 _You sound fucking insane Grey. It's a fucking jacket – it can't talk you idiot._

I know I sound insane, and it's precisely because of this insanity that I know I will see her again. I have to. I folded her fucking jacket six times for Christ's sake – this obviously isn't going to be a passing fascination. I need to figure her out – understand why she captivates me, and then I'll be cleansed of her and whatever magic she's weaving.

"Sir, we've arrived," Taylor says, and I realize I've not been paying attention to the car ride at all – I've just been staring at my briefcase the entire time.

"I won't be needing anything else tonight Taylor. I will see you at 6 am for our run," I say as I walk inside the elevator while Taylor takes the service elevator at the back of the parking garage. I'm itching to get this jacket out of my briefcase and inspect it a second time, but I know I won't find anything new. This woman is confounding and I just want some understanding of who she is.

 _Why do you even care? You've never cared about the personal lives of your subs. What makes this woman any different? She's definitely not submissive material. That smart mouth wouldn't last two seconds in the playroom and you know it._

I ignore my logical side and focus on the numbers slowly climbing up on the elevator panel – thinking of her scent and how I want it wrapped around my body.

The elevator dings, indicating its arrival at my floor and I step off into the foyer. As always, there's a large vase filled with white flowers, some type of lily I believe, artfully arranged by Gail. I can't help wondering what Anastasia would think of the flower choice. Does she like flowers? Of course she does – every girl likes flowers right? I'll have to ask Mia what flowers she likes best to get a better sense in case I ever want to give some to Anastasia…

 _Flowers? Now even Mr. Rogers is fucking laughing at you, you sappy emotional prick._

Well shit, seriously why am I thinking about buying this girl flowers? I don't even really know her! Even if I did, I've never bought flowers for any of the women I've fucked. I've only sent flowers to my mother and to Mia for their birthdays but even then, I always have Andrea pick the arrangements because I couldn't give less of a shit about a pile of plants tied together with a bow. I have better things to do with my time.

I walk into the apartment and give a quick nod to Gail as a sorry excuse for a "hello" and head to my office but turn around before I've gotten there. I go back to the kitchen and tell Gail that I am not to be disturbed. I tell her I have work, but in all honesty, I just have some intense jacket inspecting to do.

"Would you like me to knock when dinner is ready, Sir? Or just leave it in the oven?" she asks casually, as if I care about dinner right now! I have to repeatedly check my email until I get Anastasia Steele's background check! I have to look up how to fold women's jackets properly! But I can't say that to Gail, so I just tell her to leave dinner in the oven and I'll grab it when I'm done. I tell her she will not be needed for the rest of the night once dinner is finished.

I try to walk at a normal pace to my office so as to not seem overly suspicious to Gail, but give up and half run with my briefcase in hand. I clear off the desk in my office and make sure there is no dirt on it – her jacket would surely tell her if I placed it on a dirty surface.

 _Crazy City, population: YOU._

I open my briefcase carefully and take out Anastasia's jacket, unfolding it in the process. All at once, I'm hit with her amazing scent as it explodes from every thread of the garment. I sit down and lay it gently on top of my desk.

And I just sit there – staring at it.

I wonder where she bought it.

What does she like to wear it with?

Does she even know she left it behind?

I look through the pockets again and find a hidden slit on the inside of the jacket. A piece of paper is folded up inside of the secret pocket. I unfold the paper and find that it's actually several pieces of paper filled with Katherine Kavanagh's interview questions. I read through them and see that most of the questions are crossed out. Anastasia obviously didn't like her friend's questions very much, but I can imagine the tenacious Miss Kavanagh will be upset that only a couple of her questions got answered.

I could answer them now and email them to Kavanagh. It's not like I have anything else to do but wait around for Welch to email me the background check. And it would make me look like a nice guy, something I'm sure Miss Steele doesn't believe I am. If I could get in her good graces by seeming like a caring person, maybe she won't freak out when I casually "run into her" to give her back her jacket… That could work!

 _Yea sure, that doesn't sound completely fake and also COMPLETELY PSYCHOTIC._

Whatever, I'm doing it. It couldn't hurt to keep my name in the conversation right? As I start on the questions, I realize why Anastasia didn't ask them – they're either exceptionally boring or outrageously intrusive.

 **What motivates me?** Give me a fucking break.

 **My favorite movie?** This is some puff piece bullshit attempt at humanizing me and I don't fucking like it. Who cares what movies I like? I can't even remember the last time I watched a movie.

 **Am I gay?** God fucking damn it, Kavanagh. Good thing Anastasia didn't ask me that question during the interview. I would have been all too happy to show her how not gay I am. I can just imagine her asking me that question and realizing just a moment too late what she had said. That blush would color every inch of her flawless skin and I'd pounce. I'd claim her mouth with mine and devour her body until she begged me to give her more. I'd go slow, making sure she felt every inch of me. She'd scratch at my skin, pull on my hair, pleading with me to give it to her hard, but I would continue torturing her with my glacial pace. I'd feel her fingernails digging into my shoulders and I'd relish the bite of pain it inflicted.

 _WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING? God damn touching?! Since when do you let women fucking touch you?! Pull it together you son of a bitch!_

Dear god, what the fuck was that? Why would I want that? Why am I fantasizing about having sex with this woman without restraints? Why am I fantasizing about _sex_? Not even fucking, but pure vanilla sex? Why did I like the idea of her touching my bare skin?

 _You're fantasizing about vanilla sex because you know she won't be your submissive – that girl is NOT SUBMISSIVE. So you're pretending like you can do a normal relationship when you know you can't. Don't be ridiculous. You know who you are. Stop wasting your time on this girl._

Somehow, the voice starts to sound like Elena and I know that I need to ignore my thoughts. Even after all the breakthroughs with Flynn this past year, I still hear her nagging, manipulative voice in my head – telling me I'm not good enough. But unlike a year ago, I can ignore that bitch and her lies. I'm Christian Grey and I can do whatever the fuck I want. If I want to pursue this girl, I can. If she says she won't be a submissive, then I can try something different.

I just have to remember to not be creepy about it. And I can't be overly controlling. And I have to keep my mood in check.

 _And you actually have to fucking talk to her first. Maybe you should start there._

After sending my answers to Katherine Kavanagh, I get up to grab my dinner. I need to clear my head a little bit. I still haven't gotten the background check from Welch and I'm growing impatient. I'm about to just email Kavanagh myself and ask her about Anastasia but I won't because… well, because that's creepy and far too desperate. I have to at least _appear_ as a non-pathetic person. But I don't like to be kept waiting.

Finally, a ping on my computer signals that I have a response from Welch. Took the fucker long enough.

 ****taken directly from E.L. James' book** _ **Grey**_ **(my changes/additions are** **underlined** **)** **

 _ANASTASIA ROSE STEELE_

 **DOB:**

Sept. 10, 1989, Montesano, WA

 **Address:**

1114 SW Green Street, Apartment 7,

Haven Heights, Vancouver, WA 98888

 **Mobile No:**

360-959-4352

 **Social Security No:**

987-65-4320

 **Bank:**

Wells Fargo Bank, Vancouver, WA:

Acct. No.: 309361: $48,322.59 balance 

**Occupation:**

Undergraduate Student – full-ride scholarship

WSU Vancouver College of Arts and Sciences

English Major

WSU Vancouver Carson College of Business

Business Administration Major

 **GPA:**

4.0

 **Prior Education:**

Montesano Jr. Sr. High School

 **SAT Score:**

2150

 **Employment:**

Clayton's Hardware Store,

NW Vancouver Drive, Portland, OR (part-time)

 **Father:**

Franklin A. Lambert, DOB: Sept. 1, 1969,

Deceased Sept. 11, 1989

 **Mother:**

Carla May Wilks Adams,

DOB: July 18, 1970

m. Frank Lambert: March 1, 1989,

Widowed: Sept. 11, 1989

m. Raymond Steele: June 6, 1990,

Divorced: July 12, 2006

m. Stephen M. Morton: Aug. 16, 2006,

Divorced: Jan. 31, 2007

m. Bob Adams: April 6, 2009

 **Political Affiliations:**

None Found

 **Religious Affiliations:**

None Found

 **Sexual Orientation:**

Not Known

 **Relationships:**

None Indicated at Present

Fuck, she's smart and she's working? Why is she working anyways? She has more than enough in her bank account to cover student expenses, especially since she has a full ride. And she's pursuing two majors? And has a 4.0? Who is this woman?

 _She's way out of your league, Grey._

I sigh, knowing that this woman is far too good for me, but I know I won't be able to let her go, not just yet. I need to see if this attraction is one-sided; please don't let it be just me.

I look over the report again and again; I chuckle at her middle name and think back to my flower conundrum. I'm sure she'd be embarrassed receiving her namesake flower, so I'll have to think of something else if I go down that road. I'm not quite sure how to woo this woman. But she ran out of my office so quickly, I'm sure I must have done something to upset her. I've never had to convince anyone to spend time with me before in this sort of way – it's always been spelled out beforehand.

 _But why do you care so much? She doesn't need to like you. Fucking requires attraction, not fondness._

Maybe this whole situation will make more sense in the morning. I fold her jacket neatly after watching several tutorials on YouTube – thank god they have tutorials for everything on there because I have no fucking clue how to properly fold clothing. I bring the garment to my face one more time, inhaling her fresh, enticing scent and then carefully place it back inside my briefcase to keep it safe.

 _Safe from what? The fucking elements? Of your apartment? You're a fucking imbecile._

That night, I fall asleep thinking of piercing blue eyes and dream of soft lips and a high pain tolerance. I awake more refreshed than I have in a long time and it's in that moment of clarity that I know I need to see Anastasia Steele again.

I need to make her mine.

* * *

 **AN:** Ana's POV will be coming online sometime this week. Or earlier depending on the amount of wine I drink.

 **Please review** – even if it's just to tell me you don't like something. How will I be able to fix it if I don't know what needs fixing?

xoxo

VVS


	6. Chapter 6

AN: I have emerged. Feel free to hate me.

EL James owns all. I just play make believe.

Never Know Pain – Chapter 6

* * *

 **APOV**

I arrive home in a daze. My thoughts are a mixed-up mess of confusion and foreign emotions. While CIPA has made some aspects of my life difficult, it has weirdly simplified other areas for me. I don't have to worry about romantic relationships or if the right person thinks I'm cute or funny or alluring or whatever. It's not even a concern of mine because there's no true value in a romantic relationship for me. It's more just something to do to pass the time – to _feel_ normal even though I feel like anything but. I stopped trying to feel those sorts of "happy" emotions a long time ago. When you actually understand the biology behind CIPA, it's pretty clearly spelled out that certain things are just not going to be an option for you. Pleasure, romantic love, sexual desire, extreme stress, soreness, exhaustion, fear – these are all hormonal responses to outside stimuli – and you respond to them in a physical way, if you're normal. I'm not. I accepted that a long time ago and have since tried to focus on the things about CIPA that are surprisingly helpful. I don't get stressed because I don't register the uncomfortable physical aspects of cortisol, I can work out and push my body past the mental  & physical breaking point because I don't understand what feeling sore is like, and I don't get distracted from more important things, like school and family, by some stupid infatuation with a "totes hot" frat boy.

 _Grey may not be a frat boy but he's definitely "totes hot" and you know it._

I will my subconscious to shut the hell up and get out the car, reaching for my jacket in the passenger seat, but my hand comes up empty. I check the backseat and the trunk but my jacket is nowhere in sight. Where could it be? I take that jacket everywhere. I mean, it's not like I ever feel cold, but living in Washington and never wearing a jacket looks weird and isn't good for my health. Did I forget to take it with me? I must have. It's probably just in my room, I assure myself as I exit the car.

I make sure to check the mail as I enter the apartment complex, knowing Kate is waiting for a new book she ordered. I wonder how she's doing. Hopefully she's resting – that will buy me some time to figure out how to break it to her that I completely messed up the interview with Mr. Important CEO. I mean, I think I have a good reason, but I don't know if I want to explain it to her just yet. I don't even know _how_ to explain it. What the hell happened in there? I will myself to squash all thoughts of gray eyes and sexy smiles as I walk into the apartment and find Kate lying on the couch half-awake. She looks up and gives me a sleepy smile.

"How are you doing Sicky?" I ask her.

"Much better now, thanks. I can't believe that happened. Stupid Jose," she huffs.

"What does Jose have to do with you being sick?" I ask. Jose is a mutual friend of ours. We've all know each other since we were freshmen. He came to WSUV to study photography but added an engineering major his sophomore year, so now he has to stay an extra year to finish his studies. It makes me sad that Kate and I won't see him as much next year while he's still in school, but he's hoping to get an internship for his senior project working with some construction company in Seattle that focuses on green construction and buildings.

Kate sighs, getting up to pour herself some tea, "We went to this new sushi restaurant he wanted to try. It looked super sketchy as we walked in. As in, it did not smell fresh in any sense of the word. But he was so excited because he was craving sushi so I just went with it and trusted him. Fat lot of good that did me. I hope he got sick too."

"I doubt it," I muse. "You know that kid has an iron stomach. I bet he could eat rocks and not even feel it." Kate nods in agreement. I ask if she's been able to eat anything since she's been awake. I had some soup heating up for her in a crockpot in case she got hungry, knowing she wouldn't feel up to making anything herself. She gets up and throws her arms around me.

"Yes I ate some of the soup you left for me. Seriously you're the sweetest friend ever, but you didn't need to do that for me. I mean, I really appreciate it but if you keep racking up all these friendship points in your favor, I'm gonna have to donate an organ or something to even the score," she says with a cheeky smirk.

"Well, I bet we'll be even once I tell you how the interview went," I say in a meek voice, shutting my eyes tight, as if it will make telling her I completely screwed up her big important interview any less awful. She releases me from the hug and holds me at arm's length, eyeing me suspiciously.

"What did you do, Steele?" she asks me with a wary tone.

* * *

"So you just _felt_ it?" Kate asks me after I explain the whole situation at GEH. She's not even mad about the interview, saying she didn't expect to get anything exciting or new from him. He gives the same standard responses in all of his interviews and never deviates, which is why she didn't bother with new or inventive questions – she knew it wouldn't get her anywhere. What a robot.

 _What a super freaking attractive robot…_

I roll my eyes at my subconscious and Kate gives me a weird look. I ignore her and just continue with my explanation of the confusing interaction between me and Grey.

"I don't even know what I felt, though. I have nothing to compare it to. The only wetness I've ever felt down there is from my period. And this felt NOTHING like that. I don't know what else it could be. But I also don't think I was attracted to him – I mean, he was attractive but everything else about him was so annoying and frustrating to me. He was this arrogant, cold, calculating dick. There's no way that this guy could spark an impossible sexual awakening in me. There's just no way!" I argue. Kate just sits there looking at me with an odd expression. It's like she feels bad for me, but she's also got this knowing look in her eyes that I'm not sure I'm a fan of at the moment. She's just sitting there staring at me. She starts to smile and before long it's a full on, shit eating grin.

"WHAT KATE?! Just spit it out! I'm dying over here!" I yell at her.

"Let me listen to the interview."

I completely forgot I had recorded it. I reach into my bag for my phone and email her the recording from earlier today.

"Why do you need to listen to the recording right now? It's not like we'll find the answer to my problem in there," I say as she gets up to grab her computer. She returns to the couch, headphones on, and pats the cushion next to her. I plop down beside her and wait in silence as she listens to the recording.

While she listens intently, my mind starts to wander back to a certain Christian Grey.

 _Those gray eyes. Those full lips. That sexy walk. That sexy EVERYTHING. The man is sex on legs – how does anyone around him get any work done? I know I wouldn't._

 _But then he opens his mouth and it's all arrogance – gross. Maybe that's not who he is though, maybe that's just his "CEO mode" persona?_

Why did he affect me like that? How could our interaction have overridden the CIPA? I didn't think you even _could_ override CIPA. It's not like I can just turn it off if I try hard enough, that's not how nervous system disorders work. And it's not like he was even into me – he was just trying to mess with my head, as if it was all a fun game. I'm probably just building it up in my mind to be more than it was…

"WHAT THE MOTHERFUCKING HOLY SHIT WAS THAT?!" Kate screeches at the top of her lungs, effectively hurling me out of my thoughts and back to the present. I turn to her expecting to see a spider the size of our TV or something equally as terrifying. But no, she's just staring at her computer screen, mouth agape, eyes wide open.

"Kate, what the hell?! Are you ok? Did you see a goddamn monster? What gives?"

She disconnects her headphones, turns her computer speakers up all the way, and presses play. The alluring sound of Christian Grey fills the air.

 **"Control can be quite… satisfying, Anastasia."**

Shit I forgot how hot he sounds. How am I ever going to figure out what is going on with my body if I keep getting distracted by the mere sound of a man I spent all of 10 minutes with?

 _10 completely glorious minutes._

"And so I will repeat myself. What. The. Motherfucking. Holy. Shit. Was. That?!" Kate says slowly, enunciating each word like I don't fully have a tight grasp on the English language. I'm dumbfounded. I don't know what that was all about! She's supposed to be the expert here! It's not like I'm going to know what's going on – I've never experienced anything remotely close to this in my entire life.

 _I hope I get to experience it again…_

No! I will my harpy subconscious to shut up. I can't be hoping to see him again! And even if I did see him again, he's not going to be falling all over me – it was all just a game to him. I need to remember that and repeat it as many times as necessary to silence the inane wishful daydreams of my inner Christian Grey fangirl.

"He was just being some creepy petty asshole who likes to fuck with people's heads – or who likes to bed inexperienced young reporters for sport. I don't know Kate!" I say, getting up and walking around, just needing something to do while I try to figure this out.

"Ana, I know what sport flirting sounds like. THAT was not sport flirting. And then your response to him! Hot damn was that good! Gold medal goes to you! That was straight _seduction_. Like disintegrate-your-panties-on-the-spot seduction. Like come and get it sedu-"

Kate stops her verbose description to click on something on her computer. "What the hell? Are you serious? Holy shit!" I scoot over to her to see what could be so instantly captivating and find an email from the devil himself:

* * *

Miss Kavanagh,

Attached are the answers to your interview questions. I do hope they prove sufficient for your article. I also hope you are feeling better, as Miss Steele mentioned you were ill. Speaking of Miss Steele, she left her jacket in my office this morning. Perhaps you should give her this email address so that I may arrange its safe return.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

* * *

My jacket! I knew I took it with me today!

"Oh my god Ana, he's totally into you," Kate squeals. "There's no way he would've been so nice as to _personally_ email me answers to my questions unless he's trying to get into your good graces." I can't even comprehend someone like him being remotely attracted to someone like me. I offer nothing to a relationship and I'd have nothing to offer him either. And that doesn't even matter because it's obvious he _isn't_ into me at all. He just wants to give my jacket back. Probably disgusted that a non-designer jacket has even touched his precious office.

"I doubt that's what it is Kate. He's just covering his ass because I ran out of his office like my head was on fire and wants to make sure that doesn't affect how you write the article," I huff as I slump down onto our tattered oriental rug by the couch. "It doesn't mean anything," I murmur as I lay flat on my back and stare intently at the pock-marked stucco ceiling, trying desperately to ignore all the thoughts swimming around in my head.

 _You need to be honest with yourself Ana. This guy isn't interested in you as a person._

 _But what if…_

 _NO! He was bored and you were the easy target. Nothing could ever happen between you two, and nothing ever will. You need to let it go._

 _Let it go._

 _Let him go._

 _It's just a fluke._

I repeat the mantra in my mind a few times, still staring at the ceiling like it will solve all my problems, while Kate taps away on her computer, too excited to let the stomach flu stop her from starting the article.

 _Let it go._

 _Let him go._

 _It's just a fluke._

The thought gives me a weird feeling in my chest – one I've never had before, and it doesn't feel right. It feels… bad. What the hell is happening to me?

"Kate?"

"Hmmm?" she hums in response, still typing. When I don't respond right away, she looks up from her screen and comes to sit next to me on the rug. I sit up and start inspecting the woven fabric, picking at a stray thread near the center of the golden swirling pattern.

"Ana? What's going on? You know you can talk to me about anything. AK for life, right?" She says as she rests her head on my shoulder. When Kate and I first moved in together, she went through a rough patch with a guy and then got into a big fight with her family. She felt extremely isolated so I came up with a saying, something we can say whenever we want the other to know that we're in this friendship for the long haul: AK for life. Anastasia and Kate, through thick and thin.

"AK for life," I sigh and she lifts her head, picking a piece of fuzz from my hair as I try to figure out how to put words to what I'm feeling. "How do I know what's going on if I have no frame of reference? There's so many things I've never felt, and I'm not sure how to describe it because I don't have that knowledge. How do I explain a feeling I've never felt before?"

"Huh, yea I see your point. That's gotta make you feel out of sorts," she murmurs. She gets up and starts walking around the room, stopping in the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. She brings it over to me but stops just shy of handing me the glass. She's frozen, eyes wide open, lips parted, face glazed over.

"Yoohoo, Kate? Anyone home in there?" I wave my hand in front of her face as I reach up to grab the wine glass from her hand. I take a welcome sip. Feeling tipsy is one of the few pleasures I still have. Alcohol affects the brain differently than emotions and physical sensations, so I still get to feel a tad normal when I've got a drink in my hand. It might not seem like much, but it's the little things that really make the biggest difference.

"I've got it!" Kate snaps out of whatever haze she was in and runs to the alcove near her room. It was too big to leave empty ("I cannot _handle_ looking at a huge blank space every time I walk to my room. It ruins the whole aesthetic!" I remember Kate exclaiming when we first moved in) so we filled it with some storage furniture pieces full of crafting supplies for when Kate and I feel the need to get our Pintrest on. She pulls out some paper from the printer on top of the filing cabinet and a giant box of pastels from one of the drawers and comes over to me, grinning from ear to ear.

"This is how we'll figure it out. I want you to draw how you're feeling," she hands me the pastels and I stare at her like she's grown a third boob on her forehead. "Don't look at me like that! I know it sounds silly but I think it'll work. I'm not asking you to draw your _favorite dinosaur_ for fuck's sake. Just use the colors to describe how you feel."

I don't think I'm going to get out of this so I take the paper from Kate the Therapist, drain my wine glass, and open the box of pastels with a huff. I close my eyes and try not to think about anything but the feelings inside of me; just focusing on those few minutes with him and the hours since I left his office.

 _How I felt when I first saw him._

 _How he stared at me as if he didn't think I was real._

 _How I felt his eyes on me when I wasn't looking at him._

 _How his tongue seemed to caress every syllable of my name._

I grab for the oxblood red and start shading in the top section of the paper with thick strokes.

 _How he resembled someone having a stroke right after I made a joke about my pain tolerance._

 _Why did he seem so shaken up by that comment? That was so bizarre. He didn't seem too concerned about my well-being. That's when everything took a hard left into hunter-prey zone._

I grab for a deep purple next and blend it together with the red, letting my strokes get lighter and thinner as I progress down the page.

I try to focus on that moment, when I noticed him coming over to sit next to me. But he didn't walk, he _stalked_. Like he was on the prowl for some fresh meat and I was a little doe caught in the headlights.

 _Except you didn't stay caught, did you? You decided to try and beat him at his own game. A game you've never played before. And you got schooled. Hard. You ran out of there completely freaked._

 _You weren't ready for it then._

 _You're not ready for it now._

 _You ruined whatever shot you had at that feeling the moment you dropped him like a used condom._

I grab an inky blue and the gray next and use them together to bleed out from the purple and continue to the bottom of the paper.

 _But he did email Kate personally about returning my jacket. And he answered her original interview questions. Which means he had to have looked through my jacket to find them in the inside pocket… What was he looking through my jacket for? What was he hoping to find? Why didn't he get his assistant to email about my jacket?_

I continue shading in the picture with the blue and grey combo, blending in the colors absentmindedly.

 _Maybe he cares more than he lets on… maybe there's a heart beating under all that Armani and arrogance._

I smirk to myself as I think about how uncomfortable he'd be if I told him that to his face. I'd like to see that.

Lastly, I smush some golden yellow between my fingers and use my thumb to spread it haphazardly throughout the picture, lighting up random pieces and fragments without any real direction. Kate and I both look down at the finished product; a sunset on fire. I don't need her to tell me what it means.

I see emotions I'm well acquainted with: frustration, fear, anger, confusion, annoyance. But there are others that are foreign to me. I can't quite place them all, but I know one for sure.

Emotional pain.

I've never felt emotional pain before. I know emotions physically manifest themselves in a multitude of ways but I've never experienced it firsthand. On one hand, I'm delighted to feel anything at all, no matter what it is, but on the other hand, I'm frustrated that this feeling is so strong. It feels deep and long-lasting. It feels dense and hollow at the same time.

"Wow, this is really something Ana," Kate says as she takes the picture from me and holds it up, inspecting it like she's instantly gained the analyzing skills of a great art critic. But I don't care how she looks at it, as long as she tells me what emotions she sees. She might not be an art expert but emotions are something Kate is extremely well versed in.

After far too much squinting and numerous "hmmmms," Kate places the picture on the rug again and tackles me to the ground in a giant hug. "I'm sorry you feel like this Steele. It's obvious he's gotten under your skin," she says as she releases me. "But behind everything else, I do think you've got a lot of passion here. I'm not sure if it's a lot because that's how strongly you feel, or if it's because it's new, so you have no understanding of how to gauge its intensity. Whichever it is, I think you should explore it."

I stare at her, mouth agape, "You think I should _explore_ it? Explore what? I might be new to these sensations but I saw a lot of emotional pain in that picture too. You must have confused that for passion. There's no passion! I don't even know him! I purposefully pissed him off in that interview because I didn't like him and you're reading that as passion?"

"Ana, remember that you've never felt this before. You have no idea what to do with these emotions and sensations. Yea there was some pain there, but the passion was way stronger. And might I remind you, that I have a shit ton more experience in this field than you do so maybe you should tell your insecure, pessimistic brain to shut the hell up and listen to the expert!" she says as she points at herself. "Also, going back to the whole, 'you don't know what you're doing' discussion, when kids like each other, they bully each other rather than send love notes. You wanna know why? Because they don't fucking know how to deal with the all the new emotions they're feeling! So they lash out! And I hate to break it to you Steele, but you're about as emotionally developed as a six-year-old when it comes to matters of the heart and I'd bet my new Gucci pumps that you antagonizing him during that interview was the Anastasia Steele version of pulling his pigtails on the playground," she grabs a chunk of my hair and lightly tugs on it, like it will magically make sense to me now that she's acted it out. I roll my eyes at her as she continues her monologue, "You wanna know what that lashing out evolves into when those kids grow up? What all those mean names, kicks to the shin, and pulled pigtails equates to? Yup, you guessed it: p-a-s-s-i-o-n," she sings to the tune of 'sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,' finishing her speech with her hands on her hips, confident as always.

I can only grunt in response to her explanation. Sure, it sounds nice. Passion, romance, physical attraction, lust, the whole lot. But if I start to agree with Kate on this, I'm going to start hoping that he feels the same way. Which he doesn't. Because he can't. Because we literally talked about _his job_ for less than 10 minutes and then I ditched. Oh, and I also lack the neurological components to physically feel anything besides pressure. Doesn't seem like the perfect recipe for undying love and endless passion.

* * *

"Just think about it, ok Ana?" Kate pleads with me one last time as I head into my bedroom for the night.

I turn around and give her a hug, whispering, "You're the best friend I didn't even know I needed. AK for life," and head to bed.

I strip and fall into bed, dreaming of grey eyes and wicked lips.

But my restful slumber doesn't last for long.

* * *

AN: tell me what you think, alright? I can't fix something if I don't know it's broken.

xx


	7. Chapter 7

AN: trying to be semi-consistent with updating now. No promises though. Chapters will be short.

EL James owns all. I am simply borrowing.

Never Know Pain – Chapter 7

* * *

 **APOV**

I wake up around 3am, nothing new for me, and can't fall back asleep. My mind is full of too many thoughts and one too many people. I grab my laptop off my desk and settle back into bed, clicking on my email to load new messages, but there's nothing there. I catch sight of the email I sent Kate earlier today and before I know what I'm doing, I'm opening the interview audio file. I plug in my noise cancelling headphones and, after a few moments of almost chickening out, I press play.

 _God damn his voice is silky smooth._

I roll my eyes at myself and try to focus on the actual words being spoken, rather than the speakers themselves – trying to figure out a little more about this enigmatic man who seems to be consuming my thoughts more than I'd like.

 _Oh come on, you don't really mind him being in your head. You certainly wouldn't mind it if he were to be in other places…_

I have to pause the recording for a moment just to compose myself again. I feel so out of control right now. I've never thought about someone this way before. Never fantasized about it in even a fictional setting. Why daydream about something you know you're never going to have? Why be a romantic if romance will never be in the cards?

I decide to distance myself from all things Christian Grey and instead finish up my senior thesis for my business administration degree. I'm double majoring in business admin and literature. I really just wanted to do literature when I started school but I also know that there's not many jobs for a literature grad that will even support me being able to buy groceries, much less pay half the rent for a Seattle apartment so I added another major that seemed more practical, even if I found it boring. Fortunately, as I continued in my business classes, I've found that I really enjoy it. Running a company was never something that was really on my radar, but I think it would give me a leg up when applying to publishing houses because I could always work for their finance department or PR and then transition into editing when the time is right.

I finish my final touches in an hour or so. I didn't really need to do them, since I've already edited this paper more times than I can count, but I just wanted to get lost in something other than grey eyes and a smooth voice.

Trying to find something else to do to occupy my mind, I start packing away items in my room that I know I won't need before Kate and I move to Seattle in a few weeks. The only issue with trying to distract myself with packing is that I'd actually need _stuff_ to pack. I'm a minimalist in most ways and I'm done with my packing prep in 20 minutes. I decide to look at the job boards again to see if there's any new postings in the publishing world. I have a message waiting for me on one of the websites from a recruiter based on the east coast that I've been in contact with. She says she's able to get me an interview for an accounting job in a Fortune 500 company in Seattle. Unfortunately, she can't tell me which company it is until I've gone through the interview process.

 _What if it's for Amazon? Or Microsoft? Get a couple years under your belt at some place like that and you'll have your pick of the litter when it comes to any job, even publishing._

I quickly message her back that I'd love to be considered for the position. I'm about to apply to a new job posting for an editor's assistant at Seattle Independent Publishing, but I stop short, recognizing the name somewhere. I go into my old research and type in the company name to see what I've gathered on them so far and sure enough, I find the data I was looking for. I keep tabs on the employment numbers for the major publishing houses I'm looking at and SIP had a red flag on it when it came to a Mr. Jack Hyde. I've seen him post for junior editors 5 times in the last year, which means that either they're all mysteriously dying, or, more likely, that he's sexually harassing them and then threatening to blackball them if they press charges. Asshole. It honestly wouldn't be that hard to ruin someone's career in publishing if they're just starting out, it's a small community and news travels fast if you want it to. I apply for the job anyways, just to get a feel for the company itself. If the position ends up being for Hyde, I'll just decline the job if they offer it. No shame in doing as many interviews as I can to improve my chances and skills.

 _Yea, I'd say you need A LOT of practice when it comes to interviewing people. Your last one didn't work out so well…_

I sigh at myself and argue that the GEH interview was different because I wasn't interviewing for a job. And then, just as I'm making my point, I realize that it doesn't matter because I'm literally sitting at my desk arguing with myself. In the dark. Like a psychopath.

My computer pings, alerting me to new emails. I click onto the program and sift through the junk emails that always seem to make their way into my inbox, an email from the recruiter I just talked to with a confirmation of my job interview, a few pictures from my mom of the new candles she made (since when did she start making candles?), and one from none other than Christian Grey.

 _Shit. Just when I was starting to get distracted by mom's new candle obsession, he has to appear again._

 _Wait, how did he get my email address? I thought his email to Kate was about me emailing him, not the other way around. Stalker._

I click on the email, no point in delaying the inevitable.

* * *

To: Anastasia Steele

From: Christian Grey

Time: 5:05am

Subject: Missing Something?

Miss Steele,

It seems you forgot your jacket at my office yesterday morning. If you'd provide your home address, I can courier it to you.

Unless you'd rather pick it up in person.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

* * *

 _Unless I'd rather pick it up in person?_

What the hell does that mean? He's well aware of where I go to school, which means he has some general understanding of where I live. He doesn't actually think I'm going to drive 3 hours to Seattle just to pick up my $20 jacket from Walmart, right? Then why say that? He's so frustrating! And how the hell did he get my email?!

 _CEO of a bigshot company with more money than sense? Probably orders background checks on everyone he passes on the street. Remember how much he likes control… and how pleasurable he thinks you'd find it…_

"Shut up!" I yell at myself, realizing a second too late that I said it out loud. I quickly get off my bed and open my door, checking to make sure I haven't woken Kate. Nothing but silence coming from her room so I think I'm in the clear. Thanking my lucky stars that my outburst didn't disturb sleeping beauty, I go back to my laptop and hit 'reply.'

* * *

To: Christian Grey

From: Anastasia Steele

Time: 5:25am

Subject: USPS Is Very Reliable

Mr. Grey,

Thank you for your email. I do like that jacket quite a bit. Unfortunately, seeing as I live in Portland, and seeing as I don't plan to be in Seattle soon, I think it would be a tad out of my way if I were to come pick it up in person. The mail is preferred. Please send it to the address you have on file from the background check you ordered on me. Thank you.

Have a pleasant day,

Anastasia Steele

* * *

I hit send quickly, not giving myself any time to overthink my snarky comments.

 _Way to be a jerk to someone who's trying to be nice to you._

Except he wasn't being nice. Not really. He made a quip about me coming all the way down to Seattle to pick up a jacket, as if my time isn't valuable. And he got my email without my permission! No, definitely not nice.

 _He did send those interview answers to Kate though. That's pretty nice of him. He didn't have to do that, he didn't even have to contact you at all. He could've just sent you your jacket without discussing it with you._

So why did he email me? It makes more sense to just send me the jacket. It's not like I would have replied to his email with a "oh no, don't worry about it. Just trash the jacket, I don't care." So why contact me? Why make the effort? A ping from my computer alerts me to a new message.

* * *

To: Anastasia Steele

From: Christian Grey

Time: 5:30am

Subject: RE: USPS Is Very Reliable

Miss Steele,

I suggested picking it up in person because I happen to have it on good authority that you'll be in Seattle next Tuesday.

Background checks are standard for everyone who steps foot into GEH.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

* * *

 _See?! He was being nice! Background checks are standard. You need to apologize for being such an ass. But why would he think you'll be in Seattle next Tuesday?_

I seriously have no clue why he thinks I'll be there. He must be confused. I mean, if he's emailing me at 5am, he probably doesn't sleep much either. Must be exhaustion messing with his head. I hit 'reply.'

* * *

To: Christian Grey

From: Anastasia Steele

Time: 5:34am

Subject: Miscommunication

Mr. Grey,

I apologize for my rudeness concerning the background check. I'm not a fan of others knowing my private affairs. I'm sure you can relate to that.

I believe you've been misinformed when it comes to my travel plans. While I am moving to Seattle next month, I do not intend to be there next week. Who's "good authority" was it that lead you to believe otherwise?

Anastasia Steele

* * *

I'm not sure why I told him I was moving next month. It's not like he asked for personal tidbits about my life. But something tells me he'd want to know.

 _Is that "something" your newly awakened libido?_

I shush my subconscious and distract myself by opening my curtains and watching the sunrise. It's breathtaking every time I see it. It makes involuntarily waking up before the crack of dawn completely worth it.

 _You know what else would be completely worth it? Driving down to Seattle to see Mr. Sexy Sex God in person again._

For once, I don't try to quiet my wandering thoughts. Instead, I let the fantasy take shape in my mind. Seeing him again. Him personally handing me my jacket back. Then casually asking me on a date. I'd obviously decline, because even in a fantasy, that's just ridiculous.

 _Is it that ridiculous though? Why would he be emailing you back and forth like this at 5am if he didn't at least want to get to know you? He doesn't seem like the type of person to go out of his way for people he isn't interested in._

Another computer ping breaks me out of my thoughts.

* * *

To: Anastasia Steele

From: Christian Grey

Time: 5:39am

Subject: Accounting

Miss Steele,

No apology necessary, I understand quite well. A Ms. Bramstead of Creative Corporate Staffing Solutions informed me of your plans early this morning.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

* * *

And now the fantasy is dead. My accounting interview is for GEH?!

* * *

 **CPOV**

Now that I've made the decision to make Anastasia mine, I just need a plan.

 _And a fighting chance. You don't have either, by the way._

I sigh and ignore my self-deprecating thoughts for just a moment. I grab my phone from the bedside table to turn off my alarm, still reveling in my restful night's sleep. I open my email program, just to get a sense of what the day will bring. I'm hoping that it's not much so I can focus on my plan to get to Anastasia, it is Saturday after all. I open an email from a staffing company we've outsourced to in the past for our east coast offices. They've always done excellent work so I asked them to do me a favor and expand their contacts to the Seattle area to try and find me someone to fill a vacancy in GEH's executive accounting department. The west coast based firms that we usually use have been bringing us the shit candidates and I'm done with their incompetence. Looks like they've found someone.

 _It's about time. I needed that position filled weeks ago. There just hasn't been anyone I'm comfortable with yet. They're all missing that fire, that drive._

* * *

To: Christian Grey; Roslyn Bailey; Fredrick Marlow

CC: Andrew Welch

From: Mikaela Bramstead

Time: 4:10am

Subject: Exec. Accountant Candidate

Attached is the resume of Miss Anastasia Steele, a soon-to-be graduate of WSUV's impeccable Carson Business School. I've spoken to her before and she is exceptionally bright, extremely thorough, and her junior year's thesis speaks for itself. I have attached an excerpt of that as well, if you're inclined to look through it. It details the program she built for delving into large-scale corporate finance models and assessing metrics for risk in a much more comprehensive manner than the systems any company, including GEH, currently uses.

I've input the information into the interview scheduling program for GEH, she will be meeting with Mr. Marlow next Tuesday, May 14, at 9:45am. If all goes well, her secondary interview will be directly after, with Mr. Grey and Ms. Bailey at 11:00am.

Regards,

Mikaela Bramstead

Senior Recruiter, Creative Corporate Staffing Solutions

* * *

Fuck me. She's more brilliant than I thought. I just sit there in bed, staring at my phone in awe, silently thanking the heavens that they've found a way to bring Miss Steele back into my life.

 _But you don't fuck the staff. And she isn't even interested in you. If she was, she would have emailed you by now. You already received a thank you email from the reporter, she knows the ball is in her court. Of course, you could always just email her first, since you have her email address from the background check._

No. I don't want to appear as overly-controlling. She already called me a control freak after speaking with me for less than 5 minutes. I doubt contacting her without having been given her contact information will bode well for my chances.

 _What chances, Grey? You think this angel of a woman is even going to think twice about you? You're a fucked-up son of a bitch, you hold no appeal to a woman like her._

I decide to ignore that thought and instead close my eyes and focus on the deep breathing that Flynn's always rambling on about. It might have sounded ridiculous to me at first, but I've got to admit that it does kind of help, though I haven't told him that yet. Smug bastard would be so pleased.

After a few moments of breathing, I continue scrolling through my emails. I stop on an email from Katherine Kavanagh. If she's emailing me asking for more interview fodder, she's done. I already went out of my way to email her my answers to those inane questions, I'm not helping her any more.

* * *

To: Christian Grey

From: Katherine Kavanagh

Time: 10:58pm

Subject: Contact

Mr. Grey,

Thank you again for answering my questions, I really do appreciate it.

Attached is Ana's contact info, but I didn't give it to you… She just needs a little push.

Sincerely,

Katherine Kavanagh

Editor-in-Chief, WSUV Times

* * *

AN: review and let me know what you're all thinking so far. xx


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Trying to have updates out every 2-3 weeks depending on my schedule. Also, thank you for sticking by this story even though I ghosted for a long ass time. You all are really wonderful and I'll try to live up to this story's expectations. xx

Side note: R, Tableau, and Sequel are all financial/statistical coding software programs/languages (I mention them in this chapter)

EL James own all.

Never Know Pain – Chapter 8

* * *

 **CPOV**

Thank the good lord for Katherine Kavanagh, the meddling little thing. Reminds me of something Mia would do, which endears me to her just a bit more, but not enough to overlook her terrible questions.

With Kavanagh's blessing, my plan has been put into motion. Now here's hoping that Anastasia isn't scared off by the prospect of working for me. It's impossible to tell what she's thinking in her emails.

 _Contempt._

 _Irritation._

 _Annoyance._

 _With you._

Ok well I know she's thinking those things, but I'm hoping there's more to it than that.

 _Keep dreaming you idiot. Serves you right for even considering going after an innocent angel like her. Did you think she'd see all the good in you through one fucking kind gesture? You'd have to do a hell of a lot more than that to get the attention of someone as pure as she is._

Well, here's hoping that she's not _too_ pure or she's going to run for the hills no matter what.

I sigh as I step out of the shower and check my phone once more to see if she's responded. She hasn't.

When I sent her that email, I thought it would be a neat thing to share with her. Exciting even, to let her know that she got an interview for a prestigious position at GEH before she's even graduated college. I have accountants with 20 years of experience who aren't getting an interview, but she is. I thought she'd be happy. But she hasn't responded. Either she's distancing herself because she doesn't want to appear unprofessional or she's pissed that she might be working for me. Either way, I'm fucked.

I resign myself to my home office and try to get some work done, instead of thinking about Anastasia. I eventually get into a groove and feel more myself again, ordering others around and sending off contracts and memos. This is where I'm most comfortable, doing the job I was born to do. Master of my universe.

* * *

A few hours into my work, my computer rings, "ROSLYN BAILEY" flashing on the screen. I answer the FaceTime invitation and all I see is red hair filling the screen.

"You do know where the camera is, right Ros?" I say to her, waiting for her smartass response.

"Hold your fucking horses Grey, there's fucking grape jelly everywhere. How the fuck did he get into the jelly? Who the fuck is this kid? God damn Houdini?" she rasps in her throaty voice.

"Milo put jelly on your computer?" I ask, laughing at her son's antics. She and her wife, Gwen, had a son last year and the kid is hilarious, mainly just because he's really good at getting into things he shouldn't, like grape jelly.

"Yea he did. _Someone was supposed to be watching him_ but I guess nannies aren't what they fucking used to be…" she grumbles as she re-adjusts her monitor and sits in front of the camera with Milo on her lap.

"I thought you fired your nanny yesterday?" I ask her.

Her whole face freezes, then she smacks her palm against her forehead, "Aw shit you're right. I seriously need more sleep. Can't even remember when I fire someone now. Whatever, Gwen gets back tomorrow so it'll be better then. She's like super-mom, she was made for this shit. I mean, I love Milo and everything but I'm just learning as I go. It's like Gwen was born with some 'mom gene' that must have skipped my generation."

"So what did you want to discuss?" I ask as I lean back in my chair and catch sight of my briefcase, the one with Anastasia Steele's jacket inside.

"Anastasia Steele." Ros says.

"What?! What are you talking about?" I ask her, trying to figure out how she knows that I'm thinking about her. She's not a fucking mind reader. I've got to shut this down. No one can know what's going on in my head when it comes to Anastasia Steele. How does Ros even know about her?

"The exec. accounting candidate?" Ros says questioningly, giving me a look that says she thinks I might finally have gone crazy.

Oh right, Anastasia has her interview this coming Tuesday. That's how Ros knows about her. She was included in that email the recruiter sent. I'm a fucking moron.

 _Can we just rewind a little and go back to how fucking scared you got when Ros said her name? Like this girl is some little secret of yours? What the fuck?! Why would she be a secret? Unless she makes you nervous? Getting nervous Grey? Fucking pansy._

I quiet my thoughts and try to focus on what Ros is going on about.

"I mean, at first I was going to call you all 'hell no are we having a fucking _recent grad_ in that position! This is not a child's job – I don't care how smart you are, you need the experience!' But then I read some of that thesis the recruiter attached and holy shit, Grey, this girl is fucking brilliant. I asked the recruiter if she had Steele's senior thesis available and she sent me what she had. It's even better than the first one. Her metrics could literally change how we run our numbers. She's getting her degree in business admin but she sounds more like a coder with all the shit she's running off of Tableau, R, and Sequel. It's mind-blowing. I can't wait until she gets her hands on our data." Ros practically squeals.

Ros and I met in college. She was a couple years older than I was but we were always at the library at the same time and just ended up becoming friends in the process. She graduated a semester early, the same time that I dropped out, and used every last cent of her trust fund to help me start GEH. I wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn't for this crazy woman and her insane confidence in me and my abilities. She has a business degree, but her emphasis is in finance and analytics, so this coding stuff has really got her excited.

God damn, Anastasia just keeps getting more and more unreal. She's flawless.

"You know you have to interview her first before you just give her the job, right? She has to have other skills besides being a huge nerd." I joke.

 _Or I could just email her with her new employment contract right now…_

"Ha ha, just because you're not smart enough to understand all the technical stuff doesn't mean that it's not important, you big idiot." She throws at me.

 _Everything she does is important to me._

 _Wait. What? No. She's just a woman._

 _A really fucking perfect woman._

"Yea yeah, I know. So, you just called me to rave about this candidate?" I ask her, desperately trying to steer the conversation away from Anastasia before Ros realizes that I'm much more interested in her than I'm letting on.

"Well, I was looking her up in our system, to see if she'd ever applied before, because then I could see how she interviewed, but all that came up was her name in the memo line of an appointment last week with you. How do you know her?"

 _And the hits just keep coming._

"She interviewed me for WSUV's student newspaper. I'm handing out degrees this year at graduation," I respond, trying not to show how much she affected me in those 10 minutes. I'm hoping my voice sounds cold and disinterested, because my pulse is racing just thinking about her.

"She's a journalist too? Does this girl have any non-academic hobbies? What the fuck," Ros remarks.

 _Her only hobby should be getting fucked by me._

"How the fuck should I know Ros? She asked me a couple questions about GEH, that's it. We didn't chat about our favorite ice cream flavor for Christ's sake," I snap.

 _I bet hers is vanilla._

"Okay okay, I see your point," she says to me, waving her hand at me as if to say she gives up.

"Look, Ros, I've got a ton of shit to do so if that's all, I've gotta go," I sigh and rub my face, trying to get away from this topic before all hell breaks loose.

"Ok yea, well don't work too hard. It is Saturday after all. It's a leather pants day right?" Ros quips at me, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

Ros is one of the very few people in my life who knows about my involvement with BDSM. She happened upon the playroom one night when she crashed at my place after we had been out to celebrate the closing of a nightmarish acquisition; she was drunkenly looking for the bathroom, and instead stumbled into the unlocked playroom. She sobered up pretty quickly. Since then, we've discussed it a number of times and she doesn't see it as an issue, but agrees that it's for the best if the public were kept in the dark about this particular quality of mine. She's even asked for advice a few times when her and Gwen wanted to spice things up. She does, however, constantly amuse herself with the idea that I wear leather pants in the playroom, even though I've told her numerous times that I don't.

"It would be, but I don't have anyone to wear the pants for at the moment," I say.

 _Anastasia would look good in leather pants… Or in nothing at all._

"What?! Still?! Come on Grey, even I think you're hot. You could walk up to any woman, or honestly, just about any man too, and ask to fuck them and they'd say yes. They'd be so excited, they wouldn't even notice the playroom," she jokes. "Don't you have, like, an agency or something that could just send you one that will work for your preferences? There's tons of shit out there like that. There's gotta be an app for that by now, like a secret Tinder for kink."

I sigh and resign myself to having a therapy session with Dr. Ros. When she gets like this, there's just no stopping her. She's actually helped me quite a bit, Flynn doesn't even mind that she's stealing some of his billable hours, he's just happy I have a friend.

"I've looked, but nothing really jumps out at me. They're all just… missing something. But I'm not sure what that something is. I think I want more of challenge," I sigh.

Ros nods and looks off camera for a moment, lost in thought. She's about to say something when her face screws up and she looks at Milo in her lap like he's just dropped a bomb. Maybe he did, so to speak.

"Sorry Christian, I've gotta change this little adorable monster. Talk to you soon. And read Steele's senior thesis! I just emailed you the rough draft the recruiter sent me. You're gonna love it. I promise," she smirks as she signs off.

I close my laptop and lean back in my chair, resting my feet on my desk and closing my eyes. Ros does have a point. I could have my pick of more than perfect subs, so what's stopping me? Do I really want a challenge? What kind of challenge do I even want?

 _Anastasia Steele would be the challenge of a lifetime. She'd run you through the gauntlet and you'd probably just come back, asking for more._

* * *

~~ Day of the Interview ~~

 **CPOV**

I walk into Grey House early today with a fucking spring in my step. I'm smiling like a goofy idiot with a secret and I don't care. Today, my plan gets put into action because today is Anastasia Steele's interview.

She did end up emailing me back last week thanking me for the opportunity. No snarky remarks. No kind words. Just short and to the point. Professional. Which is what I should want, but not with her.

At first, I thought I'd just ignore my attraction to her all together, but that resolve lasted until Monday when I opened my briefcase and found her jacket still folded inside. Her scent hit me like a ton of delicious bricks and I just knew I wouldn't be able to ignore her if I couldn't even ignore the remains of her scent on her jacket.

So, I went with plan B – seduce the fuck out of Anastasia Steele until she's begging to be my submissive. And that's just what I plan to do.

* * *

 **APOV**

I walk into the lobby of GEH and am once again met by the army of blonde receptionists on the far-right wall. I walk over to them and give one of them my name, stating that I'm due for an interview with a Mr. Marlow of the finance department and she hmmmms at me while typing disinterestedly on her state of the art computer.

"Are you sure sweetie?" She says in a condescending voice. I pull up the GEH scheduling message I got last week confirming the interview on my phone and hand it to her as evidence. She takes my phone like it's drenched in sewer water and looks at the screen, narrowing her eyes.

"Oh well this is from _last week_ and things move pretty fast around here. Maybe they found someone more well suited for the position and revoked your interview." She says as she hands me back my phone, her voice dripping with fake sincerity.

Oh, I _do not_ have time for this bitch right now. Seriously, who pissed in her cheerios this morning? Someone needs to drop kick her prissy attitude right where it hurts…

 _THE INTERVIEW YOU MORON!_

Oh yea, the interview. I take a deep breath and refocus on why I'm here. To get this fancy ass job so I can support myself while I scour the miniscule pond that is the Seattle publishing world for my dream job.

"Look, I know I have an interview here today, trust me. I would have been notified if it was revoked. Could you just do me a solid and search my name in your system? Maybe they changed who I'm interviewing with? It's for an executive position so I'll be sure to mention how helpful you were to the big guns upstairs." I bribe her.

She narrows her eyes at me and I have to remind myself not to hold my breath, but she finally starts clicking on her keyboard again and then looks up, "Full name?" she asks in a slightly nicer tone.

"Anastasia Steele. S-T-E-E-L-E" I spell out for her, not giving her a single sliver of a chance of "messing up" and not getting me to my interview.

"Oh shit" she mutters under her breath and now I'm worried that something did actually happen with the interview and I won't be getting this job after all. My stomach drops with the realization.

 _With the realization that you lost out on this job? Or with losing out on seeing Mr. Hotty McHot Pants again?_

I'd be lying if I didn't say it was a little of both. But mostly the job, I think.

The receptionist looks up at me with an apologetic look on her face, "I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting Ms. Steele. Your interview has changed, in fact. You'll be interviewing with Mr. Grey at 9:45 instead of Mr. Marlow. Again, I do apologize for the mix up, it's been a rough morning," she says sheepishly. I decide to let her bitchy attitude go, everyone has shit days.

But then her words hit me and I realize that I'm interviewing with Grey?! Why?

I check my watch and see that it's 9:30 so I better get going. Always best to be early for the interview. I take my ID badge from the now very helpful assistant and start walking towards the elevators but quickly turn around and ask for her name. She looks caught off guard by my question but quickly regains herself and tells me. Teresa Jordan. I tell her I'll be sure to mention to someone how helpful she was being since she changed her bitch tune and everything. She smiles thankfully at me and points me to the back-left elevators which will take me up to the 42nd floor for my interview. I thank her and head off towards the elevator bank with a million questions flying through my head.

Why did the interview get switched?

Was Marlow not impressed with my work and doesn't want me on his team?

Why is Grey interviewing me?

Why do I like the sound of his name so fucking much?

What the hell is this feeling in my stomach right now? It feels like there's some cloud of fizzy static going wild in my belly. What the hell?!

I pull out my phone once I step inside the elevator and text Kate. She'll know what this feeling is.

 **Kate:** Butterflies. I FUCKING TOLD YOU! YOU LIKE HIM! YOU LIKE HIM!

I quickly turn off my phone and shove it in my bag, not wanting to listen to Kate and her ridiculousness. I know she means well but I also know that there's no way I could have a relationship with this guy. It just isn't in my cards.

* * *

As the elevator rises, more and more people get off on their floors, until there's just me and a tall blonde guy in jeans and muddy boots. He looks over at me and smiles, "You new here?" he asks, flashing me a perfect, all-American-boy smile.

"No, but hopefully I will be soon. I've got an interview in a few minutes," I tell him, returning the smile as best I can. "Do you work here?" I ask him as I glance at his boots again. They're well-worn and covered with layers and layers of mud and grit.

"Naw," he chuckles, "I'm just the comedic relief when everyone here needs to take a break from having a stick up their ass," he jokes as the elevator pings and we step off onto the floor. He tells me good luck as he walks down a corridor on the right side and I give him a friendly wave as he retreats. I hope I see him again. He seemed nice and kind and transparent. Not like the mercurial pompous suits that work here.

 _But you still want to become a pompous suit for a while to pay the bills so chin up! Act the part!_

I put on my best confidence face and stride to the reception area that is home to two blondes. Imagine that, more blondes. I'm so shocked. I recognize one as the assistant I saw the other week, Olivia, but the other one is new to me. New Blonde looks up at me and gives me a professional smile, "Hello Ms. What can I help you with?" she asks.

"I was supposed to be meeting Mr. Marlow but I was told downstairs that my meeting is now with Mr. Grey. My name is Anastasia Steele," I tell her in my most professional tone.

She nods and taps at her keyboard, her eyes skimming the monitor with precision. "Ah yes, Ms. Steele, you're all set up for your interview with Mr. Grey at 9:45. Please take a seat and I will call you up shortly. Would you like something to drink? Water? Tea?" She asks kindly. I decline and go to sit down on the pristine white couches on the opposite wall and look through my portfolio that I brought with me. The butterflies have seemed to calm down now which is nice so I have one less thing to worry about.

I think back to the other week when I was so conflicted about this interview. I felt like the rug got swept out from under me and I was left spinning in circles. I mean, is it really a coincidence that I got this interview? For a job that, on paper, is _way_ out of my employment league? I know I'm right for this job, I know I can do the work, but I also know that it's almost unheard of for a new college grad to get a job this high profile at a Fortune 500 company. But I'm not most people. I'm really good at what I do. While everyone else was off having fun and chasing all of life's pleasures, I was studying and learning and creating and growing academically so that I might be able to find pleasure in a different way. I took extra classes, met with all my professors, took summer seminars, did online coding projects, all to ensure that I would have a leg up when I graduated. Hopefully it pays off.

"Ms. Steele? He's ready to see you now, just walk in. No need to knock." The friendly blonde smiles at me and gestures to the double doors on her left.

 _It's now or never Steele. Go show him that you're professional and perfect for this job – no snark or sarcasm, just professionalism._

I take a deep breath and get up, walk to the doors and open them.

* * *

 **CPOV**

I tell Andrea I'm ready and a few moments later, I hear the door opening. I'm purposefully turned away from her, so that my initial expression doesn't give me away if I'm once again caught off guard by her beauty. I take a moment to collect myself before I turn away from the windows on the back wall of my office and turn towards the delectable creature standing in front of me.

"Miss Steele, it's a pleasure to see you again," I say as I reach out my hand to shake hers. She grasps my hand tightly, a solid and professional handshake, but immediately I feel a shock and drop my hand too soon. Her face looks a bit shocked for a split second before her mask is back up and she's in full interview mode again.

 _What was that? I've never felt anything like that before._

I quickly shake the thought and gesture for her to sit down in one of the chairs in front of my desk. Instead of going back to my desk, I sit in the other chair and face her. I can tell she's confused by my seat choice but doesn't question me on it.

"How have you been Miss Steele?" I ask her to break the ice. I wanted to have an informal conversation before the interview began. That's one of the reasons why I changed her interview from Fred Marlow to just me. I wanted to talk to her before she got tired of interviews and started acting robotic. I want the authentic Anastasia I met during that interview. The one I haven't been able to forget about since.

"I've been well Mr. Grey, thank you for asking. I hope you've been well since we last spoke," she says. I try to engage her in other small talk but she doesn't take the bait. I don't like this. Where is the sassy woman I spoke with via email just a few days ago? It's as if accepting this interview changed her, and now she wants nothing to do with me in a personal capacity.

 _Well, she would be a fantastic asset to the GEH team, regardless of you wanting to fuck her or not._

I give a resigned sigh and decide to put the seduction plan on hold until I finish the interview and decide if she's even going to work here. Then I can figure out the rest. I just feel so lost. I don't know how to do any of this. I'm not sure what the protocol is for this type of thing.

 _Because you don't date, you fucking idiot._

 _You fuck._

I agree with my thoughts and get up, moving to the seat behind my desk and put on my most professional mask. I should never have tried to do anything other than my job when it came to this woman. It's clear that she's not interested in me. She's being completely cold. Her guard is up. I can't read her.

Well, two can play at that game.

* * *

Next chapter will be up soon (1 week)

xx

vvs


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